


Fret Not Dear Heart

by noxis (c4d3llin)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Confessions, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Pining, Realization, Song: The Horror and The Wild, Song: Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (The Witcher), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), jaskier's voice soothes geralt, make up sex?, they need each other to sleep, this is how episode 6 should really have ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c4d3llin/pseuds/noxis
Summary: 10 months 27 days and 13 hours after Geralt's shouted at Jaskier, the bard finally realises why that incident had hurt him so much. And for Geralt, it takes a little more than 10 months 27 days and 13 hours to track down the bard just to tell him how stupid he's been all along.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 426





	Fret Not Dear Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Submission for Geraskier Week: Day 5 - Realisation
> 
> A/N: I really love weekends where I can churn out stories one a day ;P the idea for this was a play between light Jaskier and dark Jaskier songs, which were basically just Joey Batey's band's song! go give it a listen on youtube: the amazing devil - the horror and the wild. I somehow thought it would suit a rebellious Jaskier sort of thing. Anyway, here's two dumdums realising that they were in love all along (sorry Yen, I ship you and Istredd)! Enjoy!

They say Witchers are heartless but Jaskier had never once been inclined to believe any of those stupid sayings. Sure, Geralt had almost always been a grumpy, brooding man but Jaskier had never seen him lose his temper. Not until the moment where Geralt had actually shouted at him on the mountain top. For the first time in possibly…forever…Jaskier found himself at a lost for words. 

Over the course of their adventures together it had become apparent to Jaskier that the only person who could make Geralt lose himself was the sorceress, Yennefer of Vengeburg. The Witcher cared for her deeply and she, well, she always thought Geralt to be at fault. Now that she had left once more, Geralt was furious and Jaskier was only trying to cheer a friend up, make things light and hope he didn’t stay in the depths of melancholy for too long. Yennefer would be back, it was their destiny. Yet for all his thoughtfulness, it would seem that Jaskier’s plan had backfired.

“Why is it every time I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shovelling it!” Geralt exploded. 

“Well, that’s not fair…” Jaskier mumbled, throat seemingly constricted once more but not because of a djinn, no. It hurt to be yelled at by the person you considered your best friend and companion. 

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Jaskier blinked at Geralt, speechless.

When he did find his tongue Jaskier prayed that his voice did not tremble, “Right then…I’ll uh…go get the rest of the story from the others…” he turned to go but then paused, “See you around, Geralt.” 

He would have followed Geralt to the ends of the known world if need be. Yet in truth, in this very moment, Jaskier wished for the ground to swallow him whole and that he might never stand before the fearsome Witcher ever again. Walking away from Geralt and _knowing_ that this time the Witcher would not be following behind him made Jaskier dig his fingers tighter into the leather strap of his pack bound across his chest. Who would have thought, that Jaskier the bard would suffer from that whole throat constricting, eyes burning and then blurring sort of ordeal? 

Jaskier had always been strong. But this time…well…this time it was different.

As the bard blinked, he felt the tears brimming in his eyes. He blinked more, eyes rolling up to the heavens just to keep those accursed droplets of salt back in his eyes.

“Oh no, no no no, you’re not doing this,” he said softly, “You’re a big boy now. You can’t be _bloody_ crying in the wilderness!” Jaskier sniffed as he held his head high trying to keep the stupid tears in!

Perhaps if he sang, it would be better. Jaskier unhooked his lute and strummed a note, “Toss a coin to your…Witcher…oh…valley of…plenty…oh…damn you Geralt!” Jaskier swiped angrily at his eyes.

Perhaps it might be best if he ditched the song.

“Right, chin up now,” he sniffled, pursing his lips after he’d drawn a huge breath, “You’re going to be alright,” he told himself but in all honesty, Jaskier felt no better than before.

The tears still rolled down his cheeks and Jaskier still sniffled and blew his nose into his handkerchief. “Fret not dear heart…you shall learn to love again…”

Ever since then…well…things had been different. Travelling on the road became a lonely and dangerous task for a bard like him. Jaskier had truly been pampered for he had gotten so used to having Geralt around and taking the less travelled road (to avoid the crowds, because Geralt was anti-social like that) that Jaskier dreaded actually meeting people on the open road now. On top of that, he’d had to purchase a new dagger to defend himself with because Geralt and his two large swords (or perhaps it was three…not that Jaskier would know) were nowhere in sight. 

Perhaps the Witcher was going out of his way to avoid him. Or perhaps Geralt wasn’t avoiding him and Jaskier was just being paranoid for he swore that he sometimes caught a glimpse of that scowl and that moonlight silvery hair somewhere in the crowd. There and then gone like a phantom perpetually haunting him. Oh and that wasn’t all, no, no, no. Those were just daily hauntings. At night...oh-ho-ho...at night his dreams wandered into deeper, more sensual territory that more often than not left Jaskier with something long and hard to take care of in the morning when he woke. 

**xXx**

The moment the words left his mouth, Geralt immediately regretted taking his anger out on Jaskier. 

The bard did not deserve it. 

But a Witcher does not beg for someone to come back. A Witcher had followers, wherever he went, they would follow. A Witcher is proud, strong and unbowed. So, even as he’d walked away, even as Geralt picked up on Jaskier’s sniffling and soft sobs, he stood, back resolutely turned, looking out over the mountain, hands clenched into fists at his side. Until…his resolve wore out and he finally turned around only to watch Jaskier trudging off into the distance on his own. 

Geralt would have stopped him… 

…but a Witcher does not apologise.

In the days after Jaskier’s departure, no amount of drink could put Geralt to sleep. He got his wish of having blessed peace. But the Witcher soon discovered that the road was quiet, too quiet. He missed Jaskier’s chattering about the flora and fauna, about their adventures and the people they’d met, about anything under the sun really. He missed Jaskier’s strumming when the bard practised a new song while they were on the road. He missed the bard’s soft mumbling as he tried out different word combinations for a new song. And to top it off, Geralt found himself stuck with the habit of turning around while leading Roach at a trot to look for the bard just to tell him to hurry up. 

Now, instead of seeing Jaskier’s little smirk, and hearing his taunt, ‘what, worried about lil’ ol’ me?’, there is only the empty, dusty road.

When he did take a break from the odd contractual jobs, Geralt found that it was even worse. The taverns were full of people who belted out Jaskier’s songs. Almost everywhere he went, it was ‘Toss a coin to your Witcher’ that could be heard through the doors and windows and even…through the floorboards from the second-floor bedrooms! Jaskier was clearly succeeding in haunting him through his music and making it even harder for Geralt to stop thinking about the bard. 

Geralt grabbed the pillow, covered his ears and turned over on to his side. If they didn’t stop soon he would march down there and tell them to cease their horrendous fucking singing. 

_'Toss a coin to your Witcher! O’ Valley of Plenty~ O~'_

Jaskier’s beaming face popped into his head. 

“Aaarghh!” Geralt growled as he bolted upright tossing the pillow across the room. Pulling on his boots and tunic he lumbered down the stairs. 

“Would you stop your fucking singing!” Geralt snarled and the tavern fell silent as their patrons turned to eye him, “You don’t even sound like him!”

“Oh and _you_ would know how the original song is sung wouldn’t you?” the drunken bard on the stage retorted, red in the face. A round of laughter filled the tavern.

“I _do_ know how the original song is sung…” Geralt hissed and he felt a strange twinge of sadness in his chest at the thought, “You are nowhere near his sweet voice!” 

“Well then Witcher perhaps you’d like to show me,” the bard continued as he set down his harp and rolled up his sleeves. 

“Gladly,” Geralt hissed as he raised his fists, ready to brawl.

**xXx**

Of course, it was only a matter of minutes before Geralt was asked to leave. What was it with tavern owners and their lack of understanding that sometimes a Witcher needed a good old fashioned fist-fight to relieve his stress? Geralt gathered his belongings and continued riding on through the night.

“This is a better alternative anyway,” Geralt muttered as he patted Roach’s mane, “I could barely get to sleep.” 

Roach snorted, shaking its head.

“I’m sorry to have to wake you…”

Roach nickered softly, the sound was almost sat, “Come on Roach, you can’t keep on missing someone who’s not coming back to us…” 

It hurt Geralt to say those words for it was like speaking life into a thing that had not yet lived. 

Roach snuffled. 

“I know, I didn’t mean to shout at him…It just happened and then he left,” Geralt shook his head, “He seems to be doing fine without me anyway.”

Yes, Geralt had followed Jaskier a couple of times when he wasn’t chasing down a contract. Seeking out the bard’s scent was easy, but seeing him in person just a few feet away without being able to interact with him was not. Geralt found himself leaving taverns early or actually hiding from Jaskier, a thing that Witchers most certainly did not do. He missed the way Jaskier’s beautiful blue-grey eyes seemed to twinkle every time he smiled.

_‘Hmm…since when did you think the bard beautiful?’_

**xXx**

Soft sunlight filtered through the window of the tavern, warming Jaskier’s face. He threw a hand over his face in an attempt to try to go back to sleep but it was no use. The Witcher’s amber eyes had once again been haunting his very sleep. In fact, Geralt had been in a pretty stage of undress, all defenceless sitting in a wooden tub. He was just /waiting/ for Jaskier to attend to him. Jaskier sighed as he stared up at the wooden rafters of the tavern, “It’s no use,” he muttered sitting up now.

Jaskier had managed to get a bench for the night in The Slinking Cat a lucky thing for him since even a room sometimes was far too much for the coin that he just barely earned. Unlike when he had been travelling with Geralt, they’d been able to afford a room and a proper bed (which they both had no problem sharing), sometimes even two rooms with separate beds when the job allowed it. 

Now, it had been almost 11 months (actually to be precise it’s been 10 months 27 days and 13 hours, not that the bard was counting or anything like that) since they had parted ways and Jaskier was always on the move from town to town and sometimes even to big cities when he felt like it, anything just to be on the move and as far away from tales of the Witcher as possible. He was just packing up now ready to leave the tavern when he heard someone’s voice. 

“Jaskier, seems like you’re not hanging around with him anymore?”

Yennefer’s silky voice wrapped around Jaskier, nigh on strangling him. Jaskier composed his features before turning to face the sorceress, “Him? Him who?” he asked feigning ignorance.

Yennefer looked at Jaskier meaningfully, “White hair, tall and kind of grumpy? Ring a bell yet?” 

“Oh…him…yeah no,” Jaskier said, making a face, “too much of a handful that one,” he continued, “and I can’t for the love of me think when he’s around. Oh and by that I mean I can’t think about...writing a new song that is!” he quickly rambled on, brushing past her.

“Yet you seem rather melancholic without the Witcher around.” 

Jaskier paused for just a fraction of a second. Surely he couldn’t be _that_ obvious? 

“No! Really now?” he asked as he continued to gather his things, “I think you should get your eyes checked, could be that might need some magical sorceress-y glasses.”

“Could be that you need to be more honest,” Yennefer bit back.

Jaskier glared at her, eyes narrowing. She had no business telling him what he should or should not do. 

“Well…would you like to know something honest then?”

Yennefer smiled sweetly, “Oh, by all means, I’m listening,” she said folding her arms neatly over her perfectly sculpted chest. 

Oh hell, she’s perfect and Geralt and her were perfect! A nobody like him would never have a place with perfect, let alone be associated with the very word. Jaskier swallowed, he was probably making a mistake. But he’d had enough.

“You hurt him, Yennefer,” Jaskier told her as he gripped the strap of his lute, “From the very moment when you first met him in Rinde and then time and time again after you’ve hurt Geralt over and over.”

Yennefer opened her mouth to say something but Jaskier shook a finger at her, “Ah, ah, ah! I’m not done yet. You know it's miraculous really how Geralt keeps on getting back up and crawling to you only to be kicked away again like a dog!” 

Jaskier felt the tremble in his voice as Yennefer’s face seemed to get more blurry, “All I could do was to watch and _try_ to be there for him. But you know what? Geralt is so head over heels in love with _you_ that he takes his anger out on _me_! Blames _me_! For…for everything! First the stupid child surprise and then the stupid djinn! It’s always Jaskier this, Jaskier that, it’s all Jaskier’s fault! I didn’t ask for _any_ of this to happen!” 

Jaskier swallowed feeling his throat tightening, “I didn’t… _ask_ …to feel…what I felt… when I first…saw him…” he breathed remembering the way his heart skipped a beat seeing the Witcher sitting in a corner of the tavern. “I didn’t ask to get into trouble and seek his help or yours. I’d almost wish he’d…let me die than bring me to see you. It would have been short and sweet a fleeting moment of…affection…like…like ships passing in the night…not this long waged war riddled with fucking pain and agony!” Jaskier snapped swiped at his eyes and sniffling, “Though I suppose you wouldn’t understand, would you? Look at you…you’re gorgeous, Yennefer. You can have anyone you ever wanted, anyone at all and you chose him despite the fact that you’re not even interested in him.” 

Jaskier shook his head as he stifled a sob, “The sad thing is that he chose you too. And you know something? Honestly? I _resent_ the fact that he did because it was _me_ who led the two of you to meet. It was _me_ who brought you two together. I should have just died…” he finished softly and turned away from Yennefer, putting distance between her and the tavern and his own pain.

**xXx**

With the extent of the bard’s feelings laid out bare before her, Yennefer finally understood why Jaskier had always been so prickly around her. Why the bard had always possessed that certain animosity towards her all along. Their playful arguments were Jaskier’s foil, his way of showing displeasure towards her being around. For a dashing playboy, lifter of skirts and stealer of hearts Yennefer had found it weird that the bard had not found her the slightest bit attractive (even after all she’d given at Aretuza) and tried to win her affections out from under Geralt’s nose. But now it all made sense. Their arguments, everything, it had all been Jaskier’s way of deflecting his feelings. His means of defence. This way Geralt would never know how he felt. 

Yennefer sank onto the bench with a sigh. It was true that without Jaskier, Geralt would never have met her. She knew better than anyone how it felt to be so insignificant, so ugly, as to yearn for death and to find someone who gave you meaning and a new reason to live…Jaskier’s saving grace had been Geralt…and her’s? Her’s had been Istredd, the only man who had seen her in her true form and loved her. Istredd is the only man who’d known Yennefer before all the magic and sorcery when she was nothing but a twisted, hunch-backed wretch.

The sorceress knew that she had to meet a certain Witcher.

**xXx**

With the contract for the cockatrice finally dealt with, Geralt made quick work of his wounds and sought an inn to stay for the night. As they neared the inn, Geralt swore he could smell the faint scent of the bard. Perhaps he’d been here hours earlier…Geralt was too tired at the moment to bother and the next inn was whoever knew how long more. He slips down from Roach’s back and heads into the inn. Geralt’s goal is to get the room with the largest bed and rest for the next few days. He’s sure that the damned cockatrice had poison on its claws and Geralt was now suffering the effects of it. 

Geralt slides the coins across the alcohol-soaked counter, “Largest room you’ve got. I want a tub as well with hot water.” 

“Right, the room at the end of the hall on the left. I’ll have them bring the tub up, you can wait for a bit,” the inn-keep says putting a key on the countertop, she raises a brow at Geralt, “Need one of the lassies to help you patch up? They’ll get you nice and warm.”

“No,” Geralt growled as he grabbed the key. He didn’t feel much for some company, or any company lately. Keeping close to the walls, Geralt wandered further into the inn where the majority of the crowd had gathered.

_'Remember me I ask, remember me I sing…give me back my heart you wingless thing.'_

Whoever was playing tonight sounded strangely like Jaskier. But the tone…the words were too, dark. 

_'Think of all the horrors that I promised you I’d bring~'_

Geralt feels the words cut him. They were cruel lyrics, the petulant words of an angry lover and their owner…Geralt chuckled, fate was cruel. Vibrant blue-grey eyes met the Witcher’s across the distance and they flashed with emotion.

“Jaskier…” he breathed, clutching his wound as it throbbed. 

As soon as the song is over Geralt watches as Jaskier turns away from him conversing with his newfound band members it would seem. Perhaps the bard hadn’t seen him? Geralt pushes off from the wall, going over to Jaskier, “Bard,” he calls him once. Jaskier doesn’t answer. So he knew the latter is ignoring him. “Jaskier,” he growls this time, grabbing Jaskier’s arm and making the brunet turn around to face him. He caught the tremble in Jaskier’s lower lip, the way the bard’s body shook at his touch and the shock and fear that flashed across his face. 

“Geralt…” the name is like a sailor returning to port after a long voyage, a familiar stranger, “What brings you here?” Jaskier asks as he studies the Witcher. Feeling a tremble course up his arm and warmth radiating from where Geralt held him. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here, we need to talk.” 

“I’m…otherwise occupied, or can’t you tell?” he asks waving a hand about. 

“Please excuse me, I need to speak with this one,” Geralt tells the other bards who were really not paying that much attention and nodded absently as he stole Jaskier away. 

“I don’t want to talk to you, Geralt,” Jaskier bit back as he struggled in the Witcher’s grip, which got him nowhere. Geralt just dragged him along and Jaskier had to jog to keep pace as they wove through the crowd. “Just who do you think you are, Witcher? You think you can just waltz back into my life and whisk me off my feet after we’ve spent literally _months_ apart? You’re wrong!” 

“You’re following me aren’t you?” 

Jaskier swallowed, missing Geralt’s bluntness, “It would be unwise to stop in the middle of the crowded room,” Jaskier retorted as he ground to a stop at the foot of the stairs, “So, where are you taking me?”

Geralt turned and loomed over the bard, “Upstairs.” 

The word is simple but the promise of what that meant…

Jaskier let his eyes climb Geralt’s body, meeting the Witcher’s amber eyes, “Why, you got a room for us?” he asked voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Yes,” Geralt ground out, noting the shock and the slight blush that crept over Jaskier’s face, “Now are you coming or not?”

“I can walk fine on my own, something which I have been doing for the past eleven months,” Jaskier said as he shook Geralt’s grip off. 

“Suit yourself.” 

Jaskier watched Geralt continue to ascend the stairs. This is a stupid idea. Ignorance is bliss and right now, Jaskier was clearly _not_ ignoring a certain Witcher. Cautiously, he follows Geralt up the stairs to a room with a door already thrown wide open. Ladies from the establishment were rushing in and out of the room carrying buckets of steaming water. Geralt simply nodded his thanks to them and handed them a few coins before he kicked the door shut behind them. 

Jaskier stood near the door with his pack and his lute. This was clearly the best room in the establishment with its lush carpeted floor and the wallpapers all neatly done up…oh, and not to forget the large-four postered bed in the room. 

Of course, Geralt was living in luxury. 

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Jaskier muttered, “You clearly said you that you didn’t…need…me…” he trailed off as Geralt began to undress. Jaskier saw the blood-soaked bandages against his back and across his chest when the Witcher turned about. “My goodness…you’re hurt…”

“Mhm…” 

“I’ll um…” Jaskier gestured to the door, reaching to open it, “I’ll go get the girls to—“ 

“NO!” Geralt growled as he crossed over to Jaskier in two strides slamming the door shut. He grimaced having exerted his wounds, “No,” the Witcher said softer this time, “I would rather have you.” 

Jaskier shrank back against the door. Heart thundering in his chest as his throat constricted. Why is Geralt saying such things and leaning so close? Why after all this time? Well…it isn’t that he minded but…honestly eleven months…

“Fine,” Jaskier conceded, “But give me some space, I can’t work if you’re breathing down my neck, metaphorically of course…I would never want you to—fuck,” he hissed softly under his breath as he ducked out from under Geralt’s arm and put space between them, “Never mind me, just ignore my rambling. I’m just going to shut up now.” 

Geralt smiled watching as Jaskier set his things down in a corner of the room, took off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up. 

“Right, so bath first and then wound? Or?”

“I leave myself in your care,” Geralt said and he meant it. 

Jaskier frowned, “I am _not_ your maidservant, Witcher,” but he approached Geralt all the same, standing before the Witcher in all his undressed glory, that is to say, his toplessness.

Geralt watched as Jaskier’s fingers flit over the bandages to untie them. He heard the soft gasp as the blood-soaked cloths fell away and blue-grey eyes looked up to him full of sorrow and hurt, “What sort of creature did you fight this time?” the bard asked as he ran his fingers along the angry red skin next to the wound. 

“Cockatrice,” Geralt hissed as Jaskier’s fingers ghosted over his body.

“Another scar for your collection, huh…” 

“I was distracted.” 

Jaskier turned away from him, disposing of the bandages and going to get the medicinal supplies that Geralt had left on the bed. 

Geralt followed after him, taking a seat, “Don’t you want to know why?” 

“I’m not particularly curious,” Jaskier muttered as he wet a cloth and began to clean Geralt’s wounds. He really shouldn’t be doing this. Jaskier wished he hadn’t been so compassionate, to begin with. He wished that he’d said no to Geralt. But how could he, especially when the Witcher is hurt so badly?

“You know, I regret what I said to you, Jaskier. I’ve thought it over time and again and I wished I’d stopped you from leaving. I’m sorry.” 

Jaskier stayed silent as he applied the salve on Geralt’s wounds a little too harshly to make Geralt flinch. _'Good. Serves you bloody right!'_

“Jaskier,” Geralt husked, grabbing the bard’s wrist, “Did you hear me? I said I’m sorry, for leaving you.” 

“Sorry doesn’t erase the subsequent eleven months of…of pain and…and horror and nights of endless fucking dreams of you Geralt!” 

Jaskier was horrified at what he’d just revealed. He clapped a hand over his mouth as his eyes started to burn, “Fuck!” he turned away from Geralt trying to regain his composure. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut feeling the burning tears fall silently down his cheeks as he reined in his sobs. He shook his head, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He’d gotten over this stupid, stupid Witcher! 

“I…never stopped thinking about you either, Jaskier,” Geralt confessed as he approached the bard, hand on his shoulder he turned Jaskier to face him, “I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since you left.”

“You’re lying,” Jaskier half sobbed. Geralt would never lie awake thinking of him. He was not the sort. Lie awake and think of Yennefer and her beautiful, curvaceous body, sure. But lie awake and think of him? No way.

“I mean it,” Geralt said, his voice unwavering, “I missed hearing you talk and sing. I missed having your company so much so that there were times…I followed after you just to see if you were alright. And the thing is you were. It made me…jealous.” 

“Geralt of Rivia, jealous of…me?” Jaskier scoffs hardly believing the words.

“Because it seemed like you were fine…that your dreams weren’t plagued by me…that you…” Geralt paused trying to find the words, “that you possibly didn’t miss me as much as I…missed you…” 

Jaskier can’t help himself as he wraps his arms around the Witcher’s larger frame unable to stop the sobs as he buries his face in Geralt’s shoulder, “You’re so _fucking_ stupid!” he cries, “And I hate you for making me suffer!” 

Geralt is shocked and to be honest he doesn’t know what to do. No one has _hugged_ him like Jaskier is doing right now…So Geralt did what he had seen people do so many times before and settled his arms about the smaller male, enveloping Jaskier and holding him close. 

Glistening blue-grey eyes looked up at Geralt, “Know this, I never want to be left alone again. Not by you anyway…” 

“You have my word,” Geralt promised.

“What about…Yen?” Jaskier asked, his voice small.

“She and I would never have worked out. It was she who told me to find you. She made me realise how I felt for you,” Geralt whispers as he cards a hand through Jaskier’s hair making the bard sigh softly and close his eyes. “I knew I had to find you to apologise and more importantly to tell you how I truly felt. I just wonder if I’m too late?”

Jaskier shook his head, taking Geralt’s hand he pressed his lips to the back of it, “No. No there’s always time and as the druids say everything happens for a reason. If we had not fought…had not been apart…you…and I…we wouldn’t have discovered the way that we felt for each other.”

“Which is what?” Geralt teased, “What is it that you feel for me?” 

“Hey! I should be the one asking you that!” Jaskier retorted.

“Know that you have my heart, Jaskier,” Geralt confesses as he grips the bard by his chin gazing into Jaskier’s eyes and making sure that he understood before he slants his lips over Jaskier’s in a kiss that Geralt has been dreaming of since they parted.

The feel of soft lips against his own and the little noise that Jaskier makes in the back of his throat like the pleased trill of a cat makes the Witcher groan in pure satisfaction, especially when Jaskier parts his lips for Geralt and their tongues slide seamlessly against one another. He growls possessively when the bard presses eagerly up against him, hips already thrusting against him, needy and wanton.

Jaskier shudders when Geralt slips his leg between the bard’s own. The Witcher’s hands move to grip his ass, kneading the soft mounds as Jaskier grinds against him. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in Geralt’s uninjured shoulder. The pressure against his growing cock is undoubtedly wonderful and the friction has Jaskier panting as he continues to thrust against the Witcher’s thigh finding pleasure in the act, “Geralt, I…need you,” Jaskier breathes as he gropes at the Witcher’s crotch, delighted at finding Geralt in the same state of lust as him.

He palms Geralt’s cock through the material of his trousers, eliciting the finest of wanton noises straight from the Witcher’s mouth. Lips trailing kisses against Geralt’s heated skin, Jaskier tongues his way up Geralt’s neck, nibbles softly against the Witcher’s grizzled jawline. 

Geralt winds his fingers in the bard’s hair, roughly pulling him back and making him whimper, “Need me?” Geralt growls, intending to tease as he eyes Jaskier’s plump lips, “Whatever do you mean by that?” he asked as he takes the opportunity to back his bard against the wooden post of the bed. This time it is Geralt who laves Jaskier’s neck with kisses and saliva, chafing his skin with his grizzled jaw Geralt proceeds to suck on the bard’s soft skin, harder and harder until he has Jaskier moaning and arching up against his body. 

“I think you’re smart enough to know exactly what I mean,” Jaskier breathed finding his voice once more.

“Hmm…I don’t know about that,” Geralt hummed against Jaskier’s jugular, “I’d like to hear you ask me for it.” 

“You mean beg?” 

Geralt smirked as he pulled back, watching the bard’s reaction while he fondled Jaskier’s cock and bollocks through the layers of his clothes. “Mhm. I’ll wait.”

Jaskier gasped and then sighed as Geralt’s large hand teased his erection mercilessly, amber eyes eagerly watching him for a reaction, challenging Jaskier to just give in already. He didn’t understand, Geralt. Perhaps the Witcher got off just by hearing Jaskier talking dirty to him in his dreams, who knew? Jaskier whimpered, biting his lower lip when he felt Geralt thumbing against the head of his cock…if he could just feel those callused hands on his skin like he had in his dreams…

“P-Please…” he begged with a stutter, “Geralt, please…”

As if to further encourage him, the Witcher gives his fingers a good lick before pulling the bard close. He slips his hand down the bard’s pants, Geralt’s slick fingers sliding between the crease of Jaskier’s arse to gently stroke against the bard’s tight nub and eliciting a fine high-pitched little moan as the bard clung to the Witcher’s body. “Go on,” Geralt prompted, continuing to finger the tight ring of muscle, a temptation and also a promise of what could be given if the bard just opened his mouth to ask, nicely.

“I want you to…fuck me, Geralt!” Jaskier gasped and then moaned at the feeling of the Witcher’s finger pressing and sinking slowly into his hole, successfully fingering his arse. He whimpers as Geralt’s thigh moves to press against his erection once again, “…mmm, yes…I want you to /fuck/ me like that,” he begs, voice all whiny and the Witcher growls in contentment, possessively fucking his middle finger up into Jaskier, “I want your prick inside me…s-stretching me out…” Jaskier breathed getting creative, “…filling me up…just like I’ve dreamed of for many a night.”

“Many a night?” Geralt asked as he raised a brow, loving how Jaskier felt about his fingers, tight and hot. 

“Mmmm…you were _horrible_ in my dreams! Every time I fell asleep…I dreamt of you,” Jaskier whispered, “And every morning without fail…I…I touched myself…” he confessed cheeks going pink again, “Imagining they were your hands on my body…y-your cock…inside me.” 

Geralt rumbled appreciatively as he slipped a second digit into the bard’s arse, “Did you touch yourself here?” he asked roughly ploughing his fingers into Jaskier for emphasis. 

The bard gasped and nodded wordlessly as he slowly began to work his hips back on Geralt’s digits.

Geralt clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “My, my, Jaskier what have you become in my absence?” he asked as he strips the bard of his trousers, “Hmm…suppose I’ll have to make up for lost time then, won’t I?”

“All eleven months of it~” 

**xXx**

By the time Geralt and Jaskier are done making up for lost time, there’s not a flat surface in the room that they hadn’t fucked upon. The bed. The window seat. The chaise lounge. The rug laid out before the fireplace. The desk in the corner of the room. The chair. Up the damned wall even. Dawn’s rays have just broken on the horizon and the bathwater had been cold for hours when Geralt finally decides to carry Jaskier over to the wooden tub. He didn’t want his spoiled little wanton of a bard to have to walk. 

Sinking into the cool water, Jaskier shuddered from the cold and also from the way Geralt began to wash him. Another round would be in the pipes soon enough if they weren’t careful and it seemed like Geralt was intent on getting that next round as his hand dipped below the waterline, gripping Jaskier’s cock, moving gently up and down its flaccid length. 

“Again?” Jaskier asks eying the Witcher. 

“No, just cleaning you up,” Geralt replied matter of factly.

“I can do that myself, don’t want you…making me all hot and bothered again…” 

“Mmm, I quite like you in that state,” Geralt hums as he splashes some water onto Jaskier’s chest, smoothing his hands over the bite marks and bruises that littered the bard’s pale skin, “Think I’d have to be gentler next time, you bruise so easily.” 

Jaskier examined the marks on his chest. There was no doubt that there were marks on his neck and thighs as well and not to mention the handprints on his waist when Geralt had ploughed into him from behind, hands digging into his hips as he groaned and spilled his hot seed inside Jaskier. “I quite like them…” he confessed, as he stifled a yawn, “…it’s stupid but…makes it seem like you actually want me.”

“I’ll always want you,” Geralt assured the bard as he leaned in for a quick kiss, “Finish cleaning yourself up, then we should get to bed,” he said as he went to the washstand and began to wipe himself down. 

“I can’t believe we stayed up all night,” Jaskier says as he watches Geralt’s back ripple while the Witcher put cloth to skin. He knelt down in the tub now, ass sticking up in the air, he let his fingers wander back to his sensitive, abused hole. Gripping the rim of the tub tight, Jaskier quickly got the job done as he pushed out, feeling Geralt’s seed seeping out from him, dribbling down his thighs. He scooped cool water onto his behind, massaging softly as he washed up.

“Mhm, I can’t believe how loud you were,” Geralt teased as he kept his back turned, he knew what would happen if he didn’t and Jaskier needed a rest, so did he actually…as he yawned.

“You know I wonder if you can even call that make up sex?” Jaskier asked as he stepped out of the tub and wrapped a thick fluffy towel about his body, patting himself dry. “We weren’t even together when you broke up with me.” 

“In a way…I suppose we were together,” Geralt said as he turned back around now, padding over to Jaskier, “We just never took advantage of the time we spent together,” he said as he scooped Jaskier up into his arms towel and all to carry him back over to the bed and set him down gently. 

“Will you say it properly, out loud?” Jaskier asked as he shimmied out of the towel and put it into Geralt’s outstretched hand.

“What?” The Witcher took it and hung it over the back of the chaise lounge before going back to bed.

“You know…”

Geralt knows. 

As the Witcher settled down under the covers with the bard he turns to the brunet, “I love you, Jaskier,” he confesses, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in his throat, “I don’t want to lose you again,” he pauses to clear his throat, “ever.” 

The bard squeed in excitement and pure joy as he curled up against Geralt’s chest and pressed a kiss against the Witcher’s bare skin. Jaskier slips his arms about his lover. “And I…” Jaskier breathes nibbling his way up Geralt’s neck, “…love you, Geralt,” he finishes with a kiss against the Witcher’s lips.

“…will you…sing me to sleep?” Geralt asks looking the slightest bit embarrassed. 

Jaskier only smiles, “Mhmmm~ with pleasure,” he says as he settles his head against Geralt’s chest listening to the steady beat of the Witcher's heart, “When a humble bard…graced a ride along…with Geralt of Rivia…along came this song~”

By the time he got to the famed chorus, Geralt was already fast asleep and snoring lightly too. Jaskier, followed soon after humming the rest of the song which got softer and softer and eventually stopped as sleep settled over them both. For the first time in eleven months, both the Witcher and the bard slept soundly together wrapped in each other's loving embrace instead of miles apart yearning for their other half.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading and leave me a comment/kudos on the fic, cuz it helps let me know what kinds of stuff interest you guys! <3


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